


The Best Possible Timeline For Taako

by inverts



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Amputation, Bad Decisions, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Constipation, Food, Gen, In Spite of a Nail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 17:41:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10443441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inverts/pseuds/inverts
Summary: Magnus and Merle confront someone who's fallen to the temptations of a Grand Relic.Everything sucks, but in the end, it doesn't even matter.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Shoes—and Ships—and Sealing Wax](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8478376) by [SandriaC (SandrC)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandrC/pseuds/SandriaC). 



> For physical headcanons of Tres Horny Boys in this fic, I couldn't stop myself from envisioning them the way [Adrienne](http://insertdisc5.tumblr.com) draws them. In particular, Taako's appearance in this fic is [very much based on her Taako.](http://insertdisc5.tumblr.com/post/158565423495)
> 
> I haven't had a chance to listen to episode 59 yet, so if some part of this fic gets completely jossed, well.  
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> PS please mind the "violence" and "amputation" tags!

Magnus barrels through the unlocked double doors of the theater, Railsplitter in hand, Merle right behind him. Instantly, bright spotlights land on them, but that's not what pins them in place. It's the voice—that damn voice they've heard twice before, now—that stops them dead in their tracks. Lilting, as if thrilled by their arrival, that stupid voice rings out, “And here they are—just in time!”

Merle's face twists in irritation at the pun that nobody’s going to understand but the two of them and the speaker, and Magnus squints, trying to see past the bright light to make out the figure on the stage. Of course the asshole knew the exact moment they were coming. It seems nothing can go as planned, even with a literal goddess on their side this time.

“Let's give them a warm welcome!” says the figure on stage. “They’ve traveled a long way to get here! Our guest judges, Magnus Burnsides and Merle Highchurch!”

The audience around them roars with applause, but Magnus hardly feels welcome. He exchanges a look with Merle, and knows the dwarf is thinking the same thing. The theater is packed, every seat filled, and all sorts of people are cheering and clapping for the two of them. Young and old, people of all genders and all races, and is this going to be another Phandalin?

“Come on up, boys!” 

They both hesitate, but it'll get them closer to their target, and with Relic users, they’ve learned it's best to pick their battles. Pissing their opponent off immediately is probably not in their best interests, so they may as well oblige for now. As they make their way toward the stage, the breathless anticipation of the audience around them is palpable; excited murmuring and whispers surround them. The spotlights follow them down the aisle, but as they get closer to the stage, the angle gradually changes, until the lights are no longer aimed right at their faces, half-blinding them. The walkway ends, a little stairway of four wide steps leading up to the stage, and finally Magnus and Merle get a good look at the bastard who's been toying with them for the past—day? Two days? Three? It’s hard to know how to term it properly, what with all this time travel fuckery.

They've seen him on posters already, of course, so nothing about the elf's appearance actually comes as a surprise. Long blond hair, streaked through with blue and tied back in a braid to keep it out of the way. Dark skin—lighter than Magnus, but much darker than Merle, with a healthy colour and a smattering of freckles across his cheeks. Over his flared skirt, the elf wears an apron in a shade of blue that matches his hair, and on the chest, it reads the name of his show. 

“Take off your coats, put away your weapons, stay a while!” the elf teases, and a small wave of laughter ripples through the audience. He gestures towards the center of the stage, where three chairs are arranged around a table; atop it are three plates already filled with something that smells, quite frankly, better than anything they serve up on the Bureau's base—better than anything Magnus or Merle can recall eating in years, if they're really honest. “As we all know, today I've prepared one of my specialties! I hope you’re ready to have a taste of Taako’s thirty-clove garlic chicken.”

“Isn't thirty kind of a lot?” Magnus asks, before he can think better of it.

“You'd think that,” winks the elf—winks  _ Taako,_ the world famous chef whom they've tracked down and fought twice now. “But why don't you try it and judge for yourself!”

He leans in, then, his smile narrow and his eyes half-lidded, and for all that the acoustics of the theater are designed for sound to travel, Magnus is certain only he and Merle hear what the elf says next.

“And, my dudes, as much as I love cooking, it gets fucking boring to have to repeat the same thing over and over, am I right? So don't make me have to restart today any more.”

The elf must have nailed his intimidation roll, because both Merle and Magnus nod, saying nothing as they take their seats. With a smile much closer to the one he wears in the pictures on all his posters, the elf takes the third seat.

Magnus takes the opportunity to look around. The rest of the stage is equipped with a full kitchen setup, which he can only assume has been conjured up by Taako or some wizardly stagehand. There are countertops with cutting boards and pots set out, and even two sinks and a stovetop. Hanging above them is a glittering banner displaying the name of the show, because apparently the elf loves seeing his brand everywhere and on everything, and the backdrop set out behind them is a painted image of a city at sunset, stars barely visible, and what most people think to be two moons hanging in the sky. Magnus and Merle know better, of course. Considering how much Taako already seems to know about them, Magnus can’t help but wonder if the elf knows about the Bureau, too.

He doesn’t see the Chalice anywhere, but it has to be close by. None of the Relic users he’s encountered so far were willing to lose physical contact with their Relics, so if Taako’s hidden the Chalice in anticipation of this encounter, that makes him an anomaly in yet another way. If that is what's really going on here, though, Magnus can’t imagine it’s very far.

Taako taps his fork against his wine glass, getting Magnus’s attention. “You’d better eat while it’s still warm, big guy,” the elf goads, and Magnus actually looks at what’s in front of him. In the center of the table, the large platter of chicken is still steaming. There’s a large, shiny knife laid out next to it, which must have been used to cut the pieces that are arranged artfully on their plates, and provides further evidence of how little threat Taako perceives them to be, for him to leave a potential weapon sitting out in front of them like that. Garnishing the platter are dark elderberries, and a side of buttered broccoli (also flavoured with garlic) has been served as well. Each place setting includes a long-stemmed glass of dark, red wine, and it’s not really a favourite of either Magnus or Merle’s, but it’s alcohol, and after the day(s?) they’ve had, they deserve a drink.

But.

“How do we know it’s not poisoned?” grumbles Merle, keeping his voice so low that Magnus is only certain of the words both because he knows Merle, and because he was thinking the same.

Instead of answering them, the elf turns to face the crowd. “This dish has a bit of a loaded history,” he tells them. “About six years ago, my old manager tried to poison me and a whole fucking town with this dish. Thought I wouldn’t realize anything was off, and then bye-bye Taako!” He laughs; the audience doesn’t. “That idiot didn’t know the first thing about cooking.”

With that, he takes fork and knife in hand, and spears a piece of chicken from his plate. He uses the utensil to point at Magnus and Merle. “You should be honored, boys; I only cook this meal for _ very _ special occasions.” His teeth are perfect and white and all present when he delicately bites the chicken off his fork. 

It’s not actually a reassurance. The elf could easily have poisoned only two of the three plates, and hearing the history of the dish only adds to Magnus's trepidation. But if the elf—if the Relic user wanted him and Merle dead, then why restart the day after killing them the first or second time? If cooking show star Taako Taaco wanted the Bureau of Balance’s Reclaimers Merle and Magnus off his case, all he had to do was let time flow normally, instead of winding it back. 

Something else must have gone wrong. Something important enough to Taako that he's willing to go through fighting them again in order to correct it.

Kind of ironic, when Magnus thinks of it like that. How the elf’s continued use of the Relic is what’s enabling the two of them to keep pursuing him. And now they’re closer than ever, and instead of rushing in to fight, Magnus is sitting at a table under heavy spotlights, chewing a fucking delicious bite of possibly poisoned chicken while an entire theater audience watches, apparently waiting for his opinion. 

Would Taako murder him and Merle in front of a live audience? Are there poisons that are slow-acting enough that he could get away with it?

Istus had told them she didn’t have the answer, when they’d asked her why the elf was rewinding time. It wasn’t the first or only time he’d done it, which, she’d said, was part of why she was so angry with the Relic’s misuse. Nobody should be permitted to simply turn back the clock when events didn’t go to their liking. Things happened, good and bad, in everyone’s lifetime, and time marched on. Or was supposed to. Not for Taako Taaco, though, who could get a second chance on whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. 

But, she’d said, it wasn’t something he’d done  _ often_, either. 

Merle had wondered at that—after all, what a goddess considers ‘often’ might be vastly different than what a mortal thinks of the word. And from what they’d seen before, of the Grand Relics, once a person used one even a little bit, that little turned into a lot, until it completely consumed them.

Magnus knows he regrets being unable to stop what happened to Sloane and Gundren. He’s pretty sure Merle regrets it too. So even though Taako Taaco is a complete asshole, Magnus doesn’t want to see it happen again.

If they have to, well, they’d killed Jenkins without batting an eye. It’s an option that’s still on the table, if things go bad.

But Jenkins hadn’t been nearly as skilled a cook.

“This is fucking amazing,” Magnus says, quickly devouring the rest of his plate. Even the goddamn  _ broccoli _ tastes good, what the fuck. Who does that, making broccoli taste good?

Merle offers his gravelly agreement, barely intelligible as he stuffs more of the garlic chicken in his mouth. Taako leans back in his chair, a satisfied smile creeping across his face, and he sips at his wine glass. 

“There it is,” he says to the audience, raising his glass. “The experts have spoken! As if there was any fucking doubt. After all, this is Sizzle It Up With Taako!”

The audience cheers, and then they cheer louder still when Taako announces that free samples will be served on their way out. He levels a glare at Magnus and Merle, however, that clearly says they’re to stay in their chairs. Fine with Magnus, as long as the elf doesn’t mind him eating the rest of that chicken.

The theater slowly empties, and eventually the double doors close behind the last member of the audience. Taako returns to his seat, his eyes passing over the empty platter where an entire chicken used to be, but he doesn’t comment. In fact, he seems to smile when he notices, but the expression is so quick to morph into a smirk that Magnus can't be certain. Still holding his wine glass, the elf kicks his feet up onto the table, crossing his ankles. Flippant and complacent, but, Magnus has to admit, not without reason. 

“So, boys,” says Taako, swirling the wine in his glass, “let’s talk.”

“Cut the bullshit,” Merle says, standing up and kicking his chair back. His eyes are narrowed, and he looks about ready to reach for his war hammer, angry enough to forego spells entirely in favour of pummeling the elf. “We played along. Now you give us the damn Chalice, and we let you do your damn show in peace.”

“No can do, homie,” Taako says, leaning back precariously in his chair, only two legs still on the floor. “When I said, ‘let’s talk,’ that might have been misleading. What’s actually going to happen is that I’m going to talk, and you’re going to fuck off.”

Magnus also stands, wiping at his face with a napkin as he does so. Delicious chicken or not, he came here for a reason. “Can’t fuck off without the Chalice,” he says.

The elf sighs, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. “Look. Mango. Marbles. Simple fact: you can’t take the Relic.” He brings his hands up, holding out his arms, a gesture that’s meant to encompass everything around them. It’s a gesture that’s ruined a little bit when wine spills out of the glass he still holds, but he goes on without missing a beat. “Everything—this whole fucking timeline is dependent on me. You take the Chalice, you screw over, like, basically everyone.” He’s still leaning back in his chair like a kid impatient to get out of an unpleasant class at school, and he’s pouting like one, too. “Your whole deal is supposed to be, like, helping people out, right? You come in, you get the Relic, you stop people from going mad with power and destroying the world or whatever. Yeah?”

“Right,” Magnus agrees. “Which is why we can’t let you keep using it.”

Taako rolls his eyes, finally letting his chair drop back to all four legs. He props his elbows on the table and rests his chin in one hand. “You remember how you fucked up in Phandalin?” he asks.

Merle and Magnus both stiffen. “How do you know about Phandalin?” Merle growls.

Taako waves dismissively with the hand holding his wine glass, spilling yet more, this time staining the tablecloth. Once again, he doesn’t seem to notice or care. “Not what’s important here, my man. What you need to pay attention to is this: if you try to get the Chalice from me, it’s gonna be a lot worse than one city wiped off the map.”

“Why should we believe you?” asks Merle, stepping forward. Even seated, the elf is just as tall as he is, and Magnus can see Merle seething over how little the elf seems to care about Merle’s show of hostility. “The Lady Istus gave us her  _ blessings _ to kick your ass.”

Taako giggles. “Right,” he taunts. “The goddess of fate, whose motto’s basically, ‘shit happens and that’s life?’ If you think she wouldn’t steer you down a path that kills, like, everyone, just because she’s pissed at me, then you completely missed the memo on that one, shorty.”

Magnus grips the Chance Lance, contemplating. This isn’t like when the other Relics have tried to tempt him and Merle, nor is it like their failed attempts at persuading Sloane and Gundren. In all honesty, it’s much too close to dealing with Lucas for his liking. Near as he can tell, Taako isn’t even putting the whole world in danger the way Lucas was—or if he is, Istus failed to mention that. Maybe if she’d said something like, ‘If the elf resets the clock five more times, the planet explodes,’ he’d feel a little more strongly.

Then again, Lucas hadn’t meant to put the world in danger—the power he’d been using had become something bigger than he could handle, and then it had been taken from him. There’s no telling what the Chalice can do if it’s left unchecked, and does Magnus really want to risk waiting until it turns into a ticking timebomb like the Philosopher’s Stone? Experience is telling him that taking the Chalice back to the Bureau will be in everyone’s best interests.

Taako’s killed him and Merle twice. Taako’s turned back the clock twice. And now, he’s trying to talk things out, instead of just killing them a third time and leaving it at that.

Thinking about all this is a waste of time when he’s missing half the information. Magnus hefts the lance, and he rushes in.

The elf is out of his chair in an instant, and he avoids Magnus without effort, like he’s seen all this before, memorized all Magnus’s moves. “Come  _ on,_” he grouses, slipping to the side, “are we seriously doing this a third time? I am  _ not  _ redoing this day again. Three strikes and you’re fucking out, buckaroos!”

“Why’d you bother redoing it in the first place?” Magnus demands, attacking again. The Lance is meant to pierce things, but it works just as well swung like a blunt weapon, if not better; this time it catches the elf in the side. He’s frail, a stereotypical mage, and Magnus is able to throw him several feet back with the sheer force. Maybe it’s because of the weapon, granted to him by Istus, or maybe it’s something else—can the elf not hold his wine? He can at least hold the glass, still gripped tight in his fingers, even empty as it is now—but he looks a bit like he’s had the wind knocked out of him.

And then Magnus is back at the table, seated in his chair, empty plate in front of him. To his side, Merle makes an alarmed noise, standing up abruptly and knocking his chair back with a clatter. Taako looks as if nothing’s happened, leaning back precariously, feet on the table, ankles crossed. 

“That’s a little trick I like to call ‘save-scumming,’” the elf smiles. It’s not a kind expression. “You’ve already lost this fight twice. The third time isn’t going to be the fucking charm. This is seriously your last chance. Go back. Tell them I got away, make up whatever, I don’t care.”

“Sorry,” Magnus says, standing up and putting his hand on the Lance. “Can’t do that.”

“I will seriously let you die,” Taako warns, letting his chair land back on all four feet again. “At this point, I just want you fuckers gone. Let me live my fucking  _ life_.”

Magnus lunges with the lance, and the elf does a nimble fucking  _ flip _ out of his goddamn chair. Gets him out of range for Magnus’s follow up attack, too, and Magnus curses out loud. 

Even after doing his showy acrobatics out of the way, though, the elf is still holding the wine glass. There’s no point to it; the glass is empty now, the drink spilled all across the stage floor. Magnus raises his eyebrows, turns to Merle, but of course the dwarf’s noticed too. It’s alcohol, after all.

“I cast True Seeing!” yells Merle, still in the habit of declaring his spells, and Magnus would facepalm, except his vision abruptly  _ changes_, and he realizes Merle cast the spell on  _ him_. 

There’s no wine glass in Taako’s hand. For one, the thing he’s holding is much bigger. It’s wooden, not glass, and decorated with gold filigree. Two handles curve out of either side, and the flare of its wide base is edged in precious metal, its rim dotted with sparkling gems. It’s definitely not meant for drinking out of.

“Fuck!” the elf shouts, and Magnus’s eyes dart from the cup to Taako. The celebrity’s smooth skin and flowing golden locks are gone. His face is almost too wrinkled to even find his eyes and mouth, the skin sagging off his bones, freckles competing with liver spots for space on his cheeks. His hair is coarse silver; if it’s still streaked with blue, the colour’s lost among all the grey. His knuckles are knobby with arthritis where he tightly grips the Chalice. “You idiots never have known when to quit,” Taako gripes, like he’s known them for much longer than two days. He throws his arm out in a wide arc, surprisingly spry for such an ancient asshole, and dark sparks drop from his bony fingers.

Glistening, thick, black tentacles burst from the floor, and Merle is ensnared almost instantly. Magnus barely rolls out of the way in time, losing a boot to one of the tentacles, and then he has to  _ keep _ rolling to avoid a Scorching Ray that turns the dinner table and chairs to ash. Which is a shame, because the set of chairs had been quality carpentry, but Magnus doesn’t have time to worry about that when a third spell sends shards of ice raining down on him, and his dodging and weaving can’t get him completely clear. He grunts, feels warm blood going down one arm and also his forehead, but god dammit he’s here to do a job and he can actually  _ see _ what he came for this time.

He surges to his feet and tries not to feel guilty about attacking a senior citizen. It becomes pretty easy when a wave of electricity rushes across the stage and through him, but somehow his limbs are still responsive when he wills himself to throw the Chance Lance.

The throw goes wide, and Taako laughs, eyes following the Lance as if he knows about its more unique capabilities, and why would he not? He seems to know everything else about Magnus and Merle. But for once, his inexplicable knowledge works against him, diverting his attention, and in the split second his gaze is off Magnus, Railsplitter comes down.

Taako’s arms were already thin, even with Disguise Self. Magnus can see the true form of the brittle, veiny limb as it goes flying across the stage, blood splattering in spirals behind it, Chalice still gripped in claw-like fingers. Taako screams, his other hand coming up to clutch just above his elbow. “You fucker!” he screeches. “I should have known your goddamn fetish would still be a thing in this timeline!  _ Fuck!”_

“Haw!” Merle crows, and then is cut off when the tentacles give him an extra squeeze. 

Taako’s knees hit the floor of the stage. He reaches out, his remaining fingers grasping, but Magnus is already there, setting a foot firmly down on the Chalice before whatever magic Taako’s trying to cast can take hold. He recalls the Lance to his hand, and for good measure, stabs it through one of the Chalice’s handles and into the stage floor, securing the cup there even if he himself gets knocked back by some spell.

Nothing else comes at him, though, and it looks like Magnus’s hunch was right; without the Chalice in hand, Taako doesn’t have access to its powers. He can’t send them skipping back minutes or hours, to a more convenient moment for himself, and he can’t speed through four or more spells in the time it takes Magnus to blink. 

He decides to push his luck, because asshole or not, Taako was right when he said they didn’t know when to quit. “Let Merle go,” he orders. To his surprise, he hears a thump, and the dwarf grunts. He lets his eyes flick to the side, just enough to see Merle getting to his feet, before his glare’s back on Taako, but the elf hasn’t moved, except to curl down further over his bleeding stump. 

The theater lights are growing brighter, even though the show’s long over. Magnus doesn’t look away from the elf. Defeated as he might seem, it would only take a moment for him to turn the tides with the right spell. If he’s controlling the lights as a distraction, he’ll have to do better. “Why’d you give us three chances?” Magnus asks. He means to demand, to harshly interrogate, but it comes out much softer than that. Merle snorts, adds a gravelly insult, but then waits for the elf’s answer.

“More like the Chalice gave  _ me _ three chances to get it right.” Taako grimaces as he shifts to sit more comfortably on the floor. Off balance, he nearly falls onto this side, and Magnus rushes in to catch him before he realizes what he’s doing. Might as well finish what he starts, though, and he helps the elf settle his bony ass to sit cross-legged. When Magnus has straightened again, Taako offers the barest crumbs of an explanation: “The Temporal Chalice comes with rules, for any dumbass stupid enough to use it. I maintain this timeline, and I have to  _ want _ what happens in it.”

The elf’s breath is shaky, and he looks to the side, eyes narrowed against the brightening lights.

“When I killed you, the timeline looped back.” 

Magnus has to squint a little; the stage lights are bright enough now to wash out the colour of Taako’s skin. His blood looks more like ink, under the harsh glare. They should probably do something about that, really, have Merle cast some kind of spell on the arm so Taako doesn’t bleed to death. Maybe once they can be certain the elf is no longer a danger to them.

“We _ know _ it looped back. That still doesn't answer  _ why. _ What aren’t you telling us?” Merle asks. Even his usual rasp is less aggressive than usual, and Magnus guesses it’s because they don’t often encounter opponents even older than Merle. Maybe it’s respect for his elders. Nah, that’s stupid. Probably Merle’s still kind of out of breath from being squeezed like a washcloth by fifty tentacles. 

Actually, unless Merle cast another True Seeing, he doesn’t even know what Taako really looks like, does he? 

“This was supposed to be the best possible timeline for Taako,” the elf laughs, ruefully. “Glamour and fame all the way, baby. Admirers for fuckin  _ days_.” He wheezes, a strained inhale. “Didn’t quite think this one through, huh?”

Magnus holds up one hand, hoping to cast his eyes in shadow, but it doesn’t stop the light from creeping in at the edges of his vision, whiting out his peripheral. At this rate, he really is going to lose sight of the elf, and it’s been hard enough to get this far. He’s pretty sure they won’t win again, if Taako gets his hands back on the Chalice. “Fuck, will you turn down the lights? They weren’t even this bright when your show was on!”

“That ain’t me,” Taako shrugs, blasé, as though he isn’t down one arm and one Grand Relic. “Or like. Maybe it is? I dunno how this shit works.”

“What are you talking about?!” Magnus yells, finally having to shut his eyes against the glare.

“My dude, I am way too done to bother explaining. Maybe I’ll see you in Refuge, but like, I kinda pissed Istus off a whole lot, so maybe not.”

Nothing makes sense. Whatever the hell Refuge is, Magnus hasn’t ever heard of it. Taako’s dull acceptance the moment his arm came off is rubbing Magnus the wrong way, the way he talks like he already knows them is rubbing Magnus the wrong way, and his roundabout admittance that he didn’t want to keep maintaining a timeline when he’d killed them is  _ really _ rubbing Magnus the wrong way. Maybe if Angus were here, he’d have been able to piece it all together, but Magnus is left grasping at scraps of clues he can’t make heads nor tails of. He’s this close to grabbing the elf and shaking some real answers out of him, age and injury be damned.

“Remember,” comes Taako’s voice, “you said you weren’t gonna judge!”

~~~

“Get this! Not my fault!” He’s laughing, but he manages to continue, “Like, I have nothing to change, I didn’t do anything wrong.” He babbles on, seemingly thrilled over the revelation, finally concluding, “I’m in the best possible timeline for  _ Taako!” _

“Really?” Thus far, June's voice has spoken for the Chalice in an earnest tone. It's been a voice that implores without pleading, presenting a different option without arguing. Now, though, bitterness laces through the word, even as June's face remains lax, free of a sneer or any expression at all. “This?  _ This _ is the best possible timeline? You could have been so much greater. World renown, fame, riches, all that possibility was taken from you. Now you're risking— _losing _ your life for a cause you hardly believe in, simply because you're one of the only people stupid enough to get the job done, and you're afraid nobody else will have you.”

Merle and Magnus look as though they might say something, but the Chalice doesn't permit them the chance.

“Forty people lost their lives, but you, Taako? You lost your future. Don't you deserve better?”

Magnus opens his mouth, and then shuts it. He’d said he wouldn’t judge. Merle’s eyes are narrowed, though—he’s  _ definitely _ judging, the longer Taako fails to refute what’s being said.

“Didn't it feel nice, when Ren recognized you? You were meant to be admired. Not to have to run from a mistake you didn't even make.”

  
  
  


“Ah, what the hell. Why the fuck not, right?”

  
  
  
  


~~~

  
  
  
  


The next time, when Taako declares that this is the best possible timeline for him, she doesn’t push.

There are two more options to pursue, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> So I was binging on TAZ fanfic, and I read [Shoes—and Ships—and Sealing Wax by SandriaC](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8478376/chapters/19427929). And I kept thinking about the end of it. What would happen if that sequence of events played out to its inevitable conclusion, with Magnus and Merle tracking Taako down?
> 
> Obviously, my interps of the Chalice's magic, the effects of the choice, and Taako's personality/level of emotional detachment are all fairly different from SandriaC's, but I hope everyone enjoyed this anyway.


End file.
